


Take Down

by SLWalker



Series: Arch to the Sky [58]
Category: due South
Genre: Arch to the Sky, Chicago (1998), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-14
Updated: 2011-09-14
Packaged: 2017-10-23 17:52:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/pseuds/SLWalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>May 1998: Ray tries, fails, tries, fails and tries again to extend an olive branch.  And Turnbull remembers how to be a cop instead of a doorstop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Down

"So, you can't tell me where this came from?"

"Ah-- no, Detective Huey."

"You sure?  Can't just pop it into your mouth?  'Cause it might help us solve this case, and it's a real _important_ case."  That was Dewey, trying to be slick.

"I'm afraid that I don't-- that is, I--"

Huey and Dewey were playing with a Mountie.  For that matter, they had been for the past five minutes.  Ray didn't look up from his desk, but he listened.  Maybe a couple years ago, it woulda been funny.  Though he didn't see Gardino coming up with that kinda joke.

Made him wonder how the Hell Huey and Dewey managed to keep a comedy club afloat, if the best they could do was pester Turnbull.

Benny woulda probably gone along with it, and then rattled off an impossible number of facts about the bottle cap they were currently holding, finishing it off with some smooth, composed summary that made them both look and sound like the boobs they were being without ever dropping his polite facade to do it.  Benny was good at that -- he was good at taking such a moral high ground that it was almost impossible to pull the wool over his eyes for any real length of time.  A lot of people thought Benton Fraser was naive.  Maybe he was in some ways.  But not in the ways that most folks thought he was.

Turnbull just sounded weary and a little harassed and kinda flustered, all underneath a veneer of politeness.

Ray shook his head.  Maybe a couple years ago, it woulda been funny.  Wasn't now.

"C'mon, one quick little lick."  Dewey was mostly the mastermind behind this one.  He had some measure of... not malice.  But a kind of dark streak to his humor, and Turnbull, all sincerity, looked like an easy mark.

"Keep on him, Dewey, and I'm gonna shove that thing down your throat."

Ray never raised his voice to say it.  He never raised his eyes, either.  It was rare, these days, when he got all that involved with the chatter in the precinct, and most of the time, he kept to himself and his desk.  It wasn't that he didn't used to try to reconnect.  It was that he didn't even know how anymore.

"Hey, Vecchio, butt out.  This is important stuff."

Ray did look up then, and then he stood.  And the vaguest little smile crossed his face, a blade of a smile, a remaining echo of the Bookman's smile.  The smile Armando used, when he wanted someone to know exactly what he thought of them, what he could do to them, and how he could do it.  It was a very effective look.  And Ray had a hard time, these days, forgetting that it wasn't his. Sometimes, he even forgot that he didn't want it to be.

"Really, Dewey?  Elaborate for me.  Tell me how important it is."

Dewey didn't pale, and he held that gaze for a moment, long enough to satisfy his macho pride, but then he made a noise of irritation and left the Mountie alone.  Huey just looked away uncomfortably, turning and shaking his head as he went back to his desk.  Turnbull looked relieved and flustered and grateful, all at the same time.

"You walk here?" Ray asked, jerking his head towards the door.

"Ah... no, Detective Vecchio--"  The way Turnbull pronounced 'Vecchio' was distinctive, and it briefly caught a more genuine little smile off of Ray. "--well, yes, in part, but only part of the way to avoid a bus transfer."

"How far is it to that new place?"

"Ninety-seven blocks."

"How many did you walk?"

"Forty-two and a half."

Ray nodded.  Thought about it for a moment.  Dewey was still casting him dark little looks.  Figured.  Dewey only ever knew Kowalski as Vecchio, and the real Vecchio was sure that Dewey woulda gladly had Kowalski play that part forever.

Turnbull was headed for the door, trying to sneak out without gaining any more attention than he had, though he was clearly jittery as he did it.  Unfortunately, his arm caught a coffee mug on the edge of Thompson's desk and the resulting crash had all eyes on him.  He apologized, of course.  A little too profusely.

Ray rubbed a hand down his face, then walked over to help, which ended up resulting in them knocking their heads together when they both went for the same piece of porcelain.  "Ah, geez--"

"Oh, Detective, I'm sorry, I had--"

Ray didn't really wanna hear any apologies for the moment and interrupted, "S'okay.  Stop apologizin', you're makin' me feel like a priest in a confessional."

Turnbull stared for a moment, dumbfounded, then closed his mouth and got back to picking up pieces of the coffee cup.  Red-faced.  Geez.  He was almost the color of his uniform.

"You wanna ride back to the consulate?" Ray asked, in part because Turnbull looked like he might be having a really bad day.  Given that Thatcher was still around and then he got railroaded by Dewey, that wasn't all that big a leap of deduction.  What, they couldn't even give the Mountie some taxi fare to drop off official documents? "I gotta go track down a suspect anyway, so I'll be goin' that way."

"I wouldn't want to impose, Detective; I don't mind walking," Turnbull managed to answer, after a few false starts.

Ray could almost feel Huey's look, and as he dumped the pieces of the mug into the trash, he caught it.  And in an instant... in a damn _instant_ he knew what Huey was thinking.  Ray ground his teeth together briefly.

Turnbull was back on his feet, looking even more flustered.  Maybe he had the same thought Huey did.  Ray didn't know.

"It's not an imposition if I offer it, Turnbull.  But hey, if you wanna walk ninety-seven blocks on a warm day wearin' wool, that's your business."

Ray regretted the words the instant they were out of his mouth.  Particularly because they closed that door, and he could _see_ it close.  Turnbull was a lot more perceptive than people gave him all that much credit for, Ray had a feeling.

"Thank you for the offer, Detective Vecchio.  It's very much appreciated."  It was formal and polite, and the fluster was gone in a flash. "However, I prefer to walk."

"Yeah," Ray answered.  He nodded once. "Take care."

"Thank you."  And in a flash of red, Turnbull was gone.

 

Ray didn't want to let himself dwell on it too much, but some of it slipped into his head anyway.  He was supposed to be looking for Roland Patrone.  He did, too.  But even then, Huey's look still drove him up the wall, and he could still feel it sticking in his side, almost like a blade.  Or maybe that was the bullet hole.

So, he drove and he tried not to think about it, and he failed.  Because he knew that look.  It was concerned and kind and had a little edge of pity, and damn him, Huey knew what it felt like to lose a partner and now he thought Ray was looking to replace his.  And if there was anything in the universe that Ray Vecchio _didn't_ want right now, it was pity.  He didn't want anyone giving him sympathetic, kind looks of concern, especially not people who had known him before Vegas, before Benny went into the sunset in the Great White North, before Ray managed to end up with an exploded bowling alley and a second ex-wife all in one month.  Who knew him when he _was_ still Ray Vecchio, and there were no echoes of the Bookman's bladed smile that sometimes crossed his face.

He honestly, right then, hoped that Turnbull saw that and decided to leave.  Or maybe Turnbull saw that and decided he didn't want any part of potentially being a replacement Mountie.

 _So, what was that?_ his own voice asked in his head.  Ray had gotten very used to listening to those voices in his head, because there were times in Vegas where those were the only ones he _had_.

 _I dunno,_ Ray answered himself, and tried not to feel like he really was crazy.  These days, he wondered.

Since when did offering someone a ride become so fraught?  God, it wasn't like there weren't a million differences between Fraser and Turnbull; anyone with eyes and more than two minutes could see that.  Hell, for that matter, Turnbull had _irritated_ Benny.  It was quite a feat to be able to do that; to drive a man like Benton Fraser to get snippy and irritable.

That thought actually made Ray feel a little better.

Turnbull had irritated Benny.  He was a little goofy and a little clutzy, but he had been loyal when it was tested, and when he was put to the edge -- like trying to handle his part in the ransom demands last second while a train was headed for nuclear meltdown -- something in him steeled.  Ray had never found him to be all that irritable, for what little they'd interacted.  He just found it amusing that Benny did, especially since Benny used to drive him up the wall on a regular basis.  It was nice seeing his otherwise unflappable best friend pinching the bridge of his nose trying to deal with an overeager, often too-literal Turnbull.

 _So, what was that?_ the voice asked again.

 _I dunno,_ Ray answered, but for this moment, he was more intrigued to find out the answer than afraid of what it would be.

 

It really had been on the way to the consulate that Ray had to stop, and so when he saw Turnbull's red uniform along the way, he debated with himself for two blocks before pulling his rent-a-bucket off the road.  That debate was somewhat more balanced, though.  He tried to put himself in the Mountie's boots.  He couldn't quite do it, but he thought maybe he got it better than he thought he could have.

It seemed a lot of people had a lot of opinions about who Ray Vecchio was these days.  For some people, he was still the Ray he had been before Vegas.  For others, he was a man who had come back and he was as much the Bookman as anything else.  For his family, he was a source of constant worrying.  For a handful more, he was an unwelcome replacement for Kowalski, even though Kowalski had replaced him originally.  And finally, for some, Ray was nothing at all.

He still didn't even know who he was, but for one moment, he kinda got what it must have been like to have stood on the other side of Fraser's shadow.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he said, standing on the sidewalk.

Turnbull pulled up short in his long-striding walk.  He wasn't all that easy to read, when he had that duty-face on.  "I-- Detective, you've done nothing to apologize _for_.  I simply wanted to walk."

"I know you did."  Ray nodded again.  "I figure that I didn't help that any, though, y'know?  I mean, that mess back there."

If there was any kind of understanding, it didn't show.  The Mountie just shook his head, answering, "There is nothing to apologize for."

He did look kind of tired and harassed.  Ray figured he probably wasn't helping that any.  But he persisted, because he just... he didn't know.  Wanted to set things right.  "I, uh... okay.  I'm still sorry, though.  You don't gotta accept it, or even believe I have to give it, but I wanna say it."  He tried to think about how to word more, and he ended up coming up with absolutely nothing.  At least, nothing that would likely land well.  "And the offer stands.  I mean, if you wanna ride."

"I would still prefer to walk, but thank you for the offer," Turnbull said, clasping his hands behind his back.

For some strange reason, that look of proud detachment made Ray smile a little.  Because it wasn't like Benny's kinda lofty moral high ground.  It was a look of a guy who was having a long, hard day and was determined to walk through it and still be standing on the other side.

"Okay, fair enough," Ray said, and he was still smiling some.  A genuine one.  Nothing from the Bookman there.  "You mind doin' me a favor?"

There was a wary little expression across Turnbull's face. "I-- don't mind," he finally said, after a moment.

"Hang on, one sec."  Ray headed around the car to get into his case file, and pulled out one of the copies of Patrone's picture.  He brought it back around and offered it over. "If you see this guy on the way, any chance you can find a phone and call my cell?  Name's Roland Patrone, and I'm lookin' to question him in an assault."

That wary look intensified, too.  And Ray immediately felt a little spike of defensiveness against it.  The request had been sincere, but he could kinda guess what Turnbull was thinking, because he could remember what he thought when Welsh handed him his first cut-and-dry case, a simple one, because he thought Ray needed time to ease back into being a Detective.  More pity.  And maybe some kind of worry about being Benny's temporary, interim, assistant, deputy replacement or whatever.

Ray jerked his chin up a little, automatically ready to default to a challenge, and then sighed out.  Yeah.  That wasn't gonna work.  That was how he got here in the first place.

Honesty, here.  Turnbull didn't know him.  There wasn't any reason to think he was gonna have to put up with those pitying looks from this guy.  "I can't run, okay?  I can't even walk more'n two blocks yet without losin' my breath since Muldoon put a hole through my lung.  I might miss him, 'cause I gotta drive.  You might see him, 'cause you're walkin'.  I don't _need_ the extra set of eyes, but it helps, okay?"

There was a moment, then Turnbull looked down at the picture, carefully taking it and studying it.  "If I see him and can't call?" he asked, and it was... huh.  Ray couldn't place the tone, but he recognized it from somewhere.

"If it won't get you canned, tail him and call me as soon as he settles."  Ray pulled out one of his newly printed business cards, and offered it over.  "Gimme a shout whenever you get back to the consulate if you don't see him or can't follow."

"Yes, Detective."  Turnbull took the card.  "Good luck."

"Thanks, you too."  Ray headed back to the car and climbed in.  And the Mountie continued walking.

 

Patrone's apartment building was one of the smaller ones left over from not long after WWII, and Ray had a deal with his neighbors to call if he came in.  Thus far, no calls.  That left casing around the neighborhood.  Which he did.  He drove around the blocks, trying not to look too obvious, and kept his eyes peeled.  There were quite a few places the guy hung out, over quite a range.  He was living on inheritance and his mother's social security, and generally he was a guy who grew up in an okay neighborhood, but decided to not be an okay guy.

It was a fairly simple assault case, with possible connections to bigger cases.  Patrone was two kinds of an asshole -- the kind who got into fights for fun, and the kind who kicked the Hell out of people for cash.  Ray wasn't sure yet which this one was.  It had happened in a bar, so it coulda been random.  It was to a guy who'd never seen Patrone there before, so it coulda been paid for.  The only way to know for sure was shake the guy down and see what kinda dirt fell out of his pockets.  He usually rolled for a deal, if his priors were any indicator.

At least this car didn't have the distinctive qualities of the Riv.  It was in okay shape, if not plain, and fit right into this particular neighborhood.  The Riviera he'd just bought and had shipped was in the shop -- and not his cousin's, 'cause that was askin' for trouble -- getting a completely new paintjob, interior and tuneup.  Ray still didn't entirely know how he felt about it or who had found it for him, but he still tried for it.  He needed something.  He just didn't know what.

"Vecchio," he answered, when his cell rang.

"Detective," Turnbull's voice replied, clipped and efficient. "Patrone is currently entering a bar at the corner of North Winchester and West Cortland, on the side entrance."

"Okay, be there in a few," Ray said, quickly. "If he bolts, try'n slow him down."

"Yes, Detective."

Neither of them bothered with anything further; Ray turned off the phone and managed to turn the rent-a-bucket around in a parking lot, before burning some rubber heading back the way he had just been.

The place was a local bar, with some long neighborhood roots.  It was a toss-up whether Patrone would have been there for business or pleasure, given that Bucktown was his local neighborhood and anyone with even a lick of sense knows not to crap in their own backyard.  Not that people always had even that lick of sense, but still.  Ray figured that this was likely a social call and not a business call.  Any which way, it was gonna become business when Ray got there.

Sure enough, there was Turnbull against the front corner, looking surprisingly casual for a guy wearing that red uniform, holding a vantage that gave him a view of both the side entrance and the front, should he hear the door and peek around the corner.  So, Ray parked on the road, got out and walked over. "Still in there?"

"Yes, Detective."

"You ever go shake up a bar before?" Ray asked, pulling his badge out of his suit pocket.

There was a hint of a little grin that crossed Turnbull's face. "Ah-- yes, Detective Vecchio.  I have 'shaken up' a bar before."

"For fun or for business?" Ray asked, and he was surprised by his own grin sneaking up on him.

"Business, entirely."  The Mountie almost went to add something else, then shook his head.

Looked like Turnbull had fun doing it, too, given the expression on his face.  Like he was dying to grin back at Ray, and like he was actually _hoping_ to go in there and roust people.  It was finally about there that Ray realized where he had recognized that tone before, that he had heard earlier.  He had worried for a moment that maybe it was something reminding him of Benny, but that wasn't it at all.

It was something that reminded him of himself, back when he was still a beat cop, doing patrol, getting into mayhem and then turning the worst of the paperwork and evidence over to the detectives for followup.  It had been hard work, often thankless, sometimes terrifying, sometimes frustrating... but it had been fun, at points, too.  Apparently, he and this Mountie did have something in common that he and Benny hadn't.

Ray grinned a little wider.  "Okay, you come in the side, I'll come in the front, and we'll see if we can't pin him between us.  Play distraction, if you wanna."

"Understood," Turnbull said, and headed for the side door.  He did grin back, just a flash, before he went.

Ray took a breath or two, then headed into the front door, palming his badge to keep it down low.  He figured that Turnbull would likely draw the most attention, even in a dark bar, simply because of the uniform.  With any luck, Patrone would be so busy staring at the red that he would miss Vecchio sliding up from the other side.  It had the potential to be a fairly easy collar, and Ray needed an easy collar right about now.

The bar was lit with low lights, almost like Christmas lights.  Classical and elegant; it reminded him of some of the nicer ones in his own neighborhood.  Patrone was very likely here just for a social call.  And Ray kept his eyes peeled as he kept it casual, pretending to look for a seat while he was actually looking for his man.

That didn't get any easier when a polite tenor rose above the lunch crowd.

"Excuse me, I was wondering if anyone had employment for an out-of-work doorman?"

Ray actually stared for a long moment at Turnbull, taller than most of the people in the bar and about twenty feet away, who looked utterly, blankly polite and sincere.

"I also make quite an excellent doorstop when necessary."

Ray didn't even realize he was about to laugh until it was too late; he tried to strangle it off and ended up snorting it out through his nose.  It was a kind of dumb mistake; he brought his right arm up to try to stuff it into a forearm, while most of the bar crowd was staring dumbfounded at the Mountie like he had lost all his marbles, and that was when someone decided to point out that Ray had a badge.

"Anything we can do for you, Detective?" the bartender called, and Ray realized in an instant that yeah, they knew Patrone was here, and yeah, they were warning him, and dammit, he probably shoulda not decided to laugh right about then, bringing the hand with his badge up like that.

And Patrone was all the way in the back; he shot out of his seat and then he froze for a moment.  Ray came around and made sure to block the front exit with his body, and Turnbull had apparently noticed the move at the same moment because he was already blocking the side exit, all blank politeness dropped.

Which was right about when Patrone decided to tour the kitchen.

"Dammit!  Turnbull, you got him?!"  Ray knew he didn't stand a chance at giving chase, and he was already making for the exit to get the car.

"Yes, Detective!" was the surprisingly cheerful call back, and damned if that Mountie didn't move fast.  He was halfway to the kitchen door by the time Ray got out the front.

He couldn't run, but he could drive.  He crossed the road, provoking a hard horn-blast from someone who had to brake fast to avoid him, and then ripped open the door and turned the key.  There wasn't any proverbial red flag down the block; Patrone had likely gone around the back of the building and headed out in between houses, probably hoping to lose himself in the neighborhood.

Ray broke a few traffic laws coming around the corner, and still saw nothing.  He slowed down about then to try to peer in the spaces between the houses, fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel, heart pounding from adrenaline.  It was times like this that he really _missed_ something he never thought he would: Foot chases and take downs.

He looked down and there they were, crossing West Cortland, heading north.  That red uniform of Turnbull's was a handy thing to watch for.  And Ray swung around the corner, then hammered it, coming up the block like a bat out of Hell and barely pausing at West Cortland before crossing.

Even with the nice head start he'd had, Patrone had a Mountie right on his heels now, and Ray screeched to a halt just as Patrone panicked and tried to come around for a wild swing.  And in a flash, Turnbull had his arm and used Patrone's momentum to slam him down to the grass beside the road, face-down.  It was that fast; maybe two seconds, and two more to get both hands behind Patrone's back, ready for a set of cuffs.

Turnbull reached back for a set he didn't have on his belt, practiced motion, then shook his head at himself.  Ray was already getting out and jogged across the road to offer his instead.

"Some doorstop," he said, before he even thought about it, but he was grinning.

Turnbull took the cuffs and speedcuffed Patrone's wrists, then stood again.  He was grinning himself.  Ray was pretty damn sure he'd never seen that expression on Turnbull's face before. "That could be why I was unemployed."

"Yeah?  My luck, this time."  Ray grabbed Patrone under the arms, who was still knocked some breathless from his swift meeting with the grass, and hauled him up.  "Okay, you know the deal.  You're under arrest for the assault of Jake Kelso.  You have the right to remain silent.  Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.  You have the right to talk to an attorney.  You can't afford an attorney, one'll be provided for you.  You understand these rights?"

Patrone just nodded shortly, shooting a death glare at the Mountie.  Considering that Turnbull was probably a good five or six inches taller, that was all bravado -- Patrone liked to fight with people he could take pretty easily.

"Good.  You and me gotta have a little talk."  Ray dragged the man towards the car, and nodded up to Turnbull as he did. "You wanna ride now?  Since you got sidetracked?"

There was still a little of that grin on Turnbull's face, but again he shook his head. "No, thank you, Detective."

"Okay."  Ray opened the back door of the car, just for somewhere to chuck Patrone for the minute it took to grab his radio, and shoved him in, careful not to bounce his head off the door frame.  As he grabbed his portable, he nodded up to the Mountie. "Hey, thanks for the help."

"My pleasure, Detective Vecchio."  Turnbull gave a little salute, and just like he was strolling in a park, he headed north.

Ray looked after for a moment or two more, and then called in for a marked unit to provide transport.

 

In the end, Patrone didn't want to roll.  Which was all right, because he was identified in a lineup, and between that and witness statements, it was enough.  Ray would have liked to have gotten more that same day, but maybe it would have to come with the pre-trials -- then, Patrone might be more ready to make some deals.

Ray didn't even notice the occasional surprised looks until after he was halfway to his desk, and then he returned them in a bit of dumbfounded surprise.  He couldn't quite get why he was being looked at like that.  It wasn't like Patrone had been any kind of a big deal case -- it was yet another one of those softcore jobs that Welsh gave him of late because he was...

Ray realized why.

He felt kinda okay, even after the adrenaline had worn off.  Not beaming or anything, but not quite so lost.  Like he'd accomplished something good, even if he had kinda screwed it up by flashing his badge while he was busy trying not to laugh at Turnbull's 'distraction'.

He'd gotten hints of that feeling, here or there.  Just little moments of something lighter, in this... he didn't know what this was.  What anything was, after the heady rush of getting his name back wore off and he found himself in Florida with just the pieces in his hands.  But it had been a long time since something had made him laugh a little, and it had been a long time since he'd felt accomplished at something, instead of drowning all the time.

Huey gave him a look again, half-questioning.

Ray still didn't know how to reconnect.  If he wanted to reconnect.  If it was even a remotely good idea to try to reconnect.  He knew that he might still flash the Bookman's smile.  He knew he was still messed up.  A lot of people had ideas about who Ray Vecchio was, but Ray didn't even know who he was anymore.

But this time, Ray gave a little Vecchio half-smile back.

 

 

"So, uh... give you a ride home?"  Ray leaned against the passenger's side of the car, eyebrows up, outside the new consulate.

Turnbull looked like someone might have smacked him between the eyes with a mallet.  Utterly uncertain, all over again, like he hadn't chased a guy down earlier as good as any patrolman Ray had ever seen, all quick and sure.

"Or I can park the rent-a-bucket and walk with you," Ray offered, trying for something like a joke. "I mean, if it's within two blocks."

"I-- that--"  Lots of blinking and lots of gaping.  "I wouldn't want to-- that is, it's completely--"

"I want to," Ray said, shaking his head with another little half-grin. "I mean, you went outta your way to help me.  'Least let me give you a ride?  No strings, no nothin' attached."

Turnbull looked a little wary.  But maybe a little less wary this time than he had earlier.  He just stood for a moment, probably trying to think of another way to politely refuse it.  At least, if prior experience was any indicator.

"I mean, if you wanna walk, it's okay," Ray added, standing up and heading around to the driver's side of the car. "But I'd like to."

It still took another moment.  But finally, the Mountie closed his mouth and stepped over, opening the passenger's side door.  Red as his uniform again.  "Ah-- this is--"  A pause and a vague wince. "Thank you, Detective Vecchio."

"Welcome," Ray replied, climbing into the car and waiting until Turnbull was in.  "So, doorman?"

"Hm.  Still employed, apparently."  Turnbull huffed a little chuckle, clearly embarrassed, as he settled into the seat and set his stetson on his lap.

Ray grinned.  "Good.  So, you got a first name?"

There was a pause, then finally the answer, "Renfield."

"Renfield."

"Yes."

"Can I call you Renfield?"

"I-- if you prefer, Detective."

"Okay, Renfield.  You know my name's Ray, right?"

"...yes, Detective Vecchio."


End file.
